He Wrote it on a Napkin
by skwirelygurli
Summary: Austin is determined to write a love song. But when Ally volunteers to help, will she learn that the song is for her? Auslly.
1. Chapter 1

**He Wrote it on a Napkin (Part 1/5), an Austin & Ally fiction**

**I do not own Austin & Ally. This is for peanutbutterjellylove, who prompted "collection of scenes that inspire Austin to write his first song." Also for mneragleek, who prompted "collection of Auslly one shots" on Tumblr. (Yup, you can check me out as Skwirelygurli on tumblr now.) So here's a five shot for you two! Remember to review and request. **

It should not be this hard. Ally writes songs all the time, and they come out fantastic.

He's been sitting at the piano for three hours now, and all he has is a garbage can full of crumpled up, no good song lyrics. (Crumpled up, no good song lyrics that will be uncrumpled and recycled before Ally finds and reads them, that is.)

He slides off the piano bench onto the ground. Dumping the basket on the floor, he uncrumples the first paper. His disgust makes him want to wad it back up again. Still, he smooths the page and starts a pile. Another stacks on top it. And another.

And another.

He'd feel a lot better if he wasn't keeping count.

"Austin, what are you doing?" Ally startles him.

"N-nothing," he stutters. He shuffles the papers together and hides them behind his back.

She notices. "It doesn't look like nothing."

She takes a step forward, forcing him to take one back. The piano bench hits the back of his knees. He stumbles, catching his balance on the piano edge.

The papers fall from his hand. Ally bends down to pick them up. He's quick to follow.

He prays that she didn't see any of the ones with her name on them.

"I can explain," he says, scooping up as many as he can. The less she sees, the better.

"You're writing a love song?" She hands him the papers she collected and stands.

Austin rends the stack of papers in half. Then again, just for good measure.

"Yeah." The scraps get tossed in the recycle box.

"Who's the lucky girl?"

He's really glad he hasn't turned back around yet, because his face matches his shirt.

His bright red shirt.

"I'd rather not say." He gets his blushing under control and faces her. "I wouldn't want to jinx it."

"Do you need help?"

He's pretty sure you can't serenade a girl with her own love song. Even if she is the best songwriter ever. "I think I'm going to write this one on my own."

Ally is shocked. They always work together. But if it's what he wants, then she'll mask her hurt and cheer him on.

She pastes on a fake smile.

"Oh, okay."

Can she hear his heart breaking?

"Well, maybe you could help. Every time I try to write something, the words come out all wrong." He sits on the bench.

She takes a seat next to him. "You're thinking about it too hard. You need to relax."

His elbows connect to his knees as he slumps forward.

"I can't. This song has to be perfect."

"And it will be. But only if you let the words come to you. Otherwise you'll end up comparing the girl to a cuddly puppy."

Darn, she had read his lyrics.

"Hey, if you're going to make fun of me, then I'll just ask Dez for help."

She puts her hands up in defeat. "I'm sorry. What do you want to do first?"

He finally has her at his whim. So many things they could do. Go to the arcade. Have a Zaliens marathon.

His stomach growls.

"I could go for a milkshake right now."

(_the page breaks here)_

He sits across from her, sucking on his choco-banana shake. It's thick and delicious and-

Oh gosh.

Ally has a milkshake mustache.

He grins so wide that his straw drops out of his mouth.

"What?" She sets her cup on the table.

"You got a little something." He motions with his hand.

She grabs her napkin and swipes it across her face. "Am I good?"

She's absolutely wonderful, but he's pretty sure she's talking about the mustache.

"You're good."

"Thanks."

He nods. "Why don't you just use your straw?"

She swirls her straw around in the cup.

"It's clogged."

"Let me see." He extracts the straw from her grasp and sucks. Her milkshake shoots up the straw, clearing the passageway.

He licks his lips.

She takes the straw back, placing it upside down in the cup. It wasn't a surefire way to avoid his germs, but it was better than nothing. And she couldn't just get a new straw after he so kindly fixed hers. That would be rude.

"What kind of milkshake was that? It tastes so good." He hadn't been paying attention when she ordered. He was far too preoccupied with the smile on her face.

"Fuzzy navel."

"Aren't you a bit too young to be drinking fuzzy navels?"

She smiles, and he has to focus this time. He refuses to be distracted again.

"It's a non-alcoholic fuzzy navel. Just peaches and orange juice." She takes another sip. "And creamy vanilla ice cream."

He watches, hypnotized, as she pulls the straw up, drawing it to her mouth. She runs it between her lips, licking off the chunks of peaches.

"Oh."

It's the only syllable he can manage.

(_the page breaks here)_

The mall is crowded.

There's a sale going on at Gene's Jean Emporium. And they both know that Trish, who got hired yesterday afternoon, is not the best employee. So the store is packed.

But it's not just Gene's. Because Billl is having a sale of his own. And because he's having a sale, so is Dress Hut. And so is T-Shirt World.

And practically everyone else in the mall, because they know that nobody in Miami can resist a sale the week before school starts.

His hand is wrapped around hers.

He says he doesn't want to lose her in the madness.

Truth be told?

If he had it his way, the mall would be empty, and her hand would still be in his.

"Do you think we could check out the shoe sale? I need to buy sneakers for gym class. I promise I'll be quick." Ally moves closer as a frazzled mother rushes by.

He squishes closer. Not because he has to, but because he wants to.

"No problem."

"Except trying to figure out how to get across this crowd."

"Right, that could be a problem."

Her eyes connect with his. He knows that look.

She has an idea.

"Oh my gosh! Is that an eighty percent off sign at Tech Town?" she shouts. The crowd of shoppers make a run for it.

"Ally, you're a genius." Austin gives her a sideways hug.

"Run. They'll be back soon." They race to the store.

They're out of breath, but he has the strangest urge to kiss her. It was a bold move, and he feels so alive. He feels her heart racing.

If only he could make her heart race like that.

With the crowd cleared, she's able to find her size relatively quickly.

"Do you need help with anything?" an exhausted looking employee asks.

"We're good," Ally responds, pulling a box of the shelf. It gets stuck, so she yanks on it, and a shoe flies out at her face. Austin catches it.

The employee shrugs and moves on. He's too tired to argue.

She puts her hand out. He shakes his head.

"Allow me," he says, motioning to the seat in the aisle.

She sits. He kneels in front of her, taking her foot.

Here it goes. The romantic Cinderella moment where he slides the shoe on, and it's a perfect fit. And then he, being the prince, knows he's really in love and asks the girl to marry him.

Except, he's not a prince. Unless you count being the prince of his parent's mattress store.

Nor is he asking her to marry him. He'd be happy to get her to say yes to a date.

She slides her foot into the hole, but it won't fit.

So much for a perfect moment.

"Austin? I think there's paper stuffed in the toe."

"Oops, my bad." He removes the shoe and reaches inside. Sure enough, there's a wad of paper in there. He takes it out.

He offers her the shoe a second time. This time, her foot is a perfect fit.

Too bad the moment's passed.

"Much better."

He ties the laces and grabs the other shoe. This time he makes sure to take out the paper before he crams her foot in it.

"Try walking in them," he suggests. She does, and he takes the opportunity to check her out.

How had he gotten in so deep?

"Perfect." She stops in front of him, and he has to tilt his head back to look up at her.

Thank goodness she wore pants today.

This would be totally inappropriate if she was in a skirt.

She sits back down, and he concentrates on untying her shoes. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The moms are back." He tugs the shoes off and throws them in their box. She slips into her sandals.

He grabs her hand, weaving through the newly crowded aisle. She hangs on tight.

Somehow, there's already a line at the register, and they have to wait.

Which they do, hand in hand.

This would be far more romantic if the store didn't smell like feet.

_(the page breaks here)_

Back at Sonic Boom, she runs up to the practice room to drop off her bag. He hops behind the counter, digging around for a pen and some paper. He finds a napkin. He doesn't have long, so he decides it'll have to do.

He glances to the stairs. Still no sign of Ally. He puts his pen to the paper.

_If a smile says a thousand words then listen to mine_

_I would swear I'm drunk, but I don't drink wine_

_It's like you're made of adhesive tape_

_I'm stuck to you, but I don't want to escape_

_So hold me close until your very last day_

_Cause I don't see any other way_

She's starting down the stairs now, so he caps the pen. He stuffs the napkin in his pocket.

Verse one: complete.


	2. Chapter 2

**He Wrote it on a Napkin (Part 1/5), an Austin & Ally fiction**

**I do not own Austin & Ally. Thanks for all of the alerts, favorites and reviews! Keep them coming. **

It feels like the napkin is burning a hole in his pocket. Which is utterly ridiculous, because the napkin is clearly not on fire, and if it was, it would have spread to the rest of his pants by now.

"What was that?" she asks, walking over to him.

"Nothing important."

Liar liar, pants on fire.

Look, he already said his pants aren't on fire. Because that napkin is not in flames, and his words are not disappearing in the ashes. Besides, if his pants were on fire, Ally would have ran for the extinguisher by now. He glances down anyway.

Okay, they're good. If only he could get the rest of himself to cooperate.

"Honey, can you watch the store for me? I'm going to check out some of the sales." Mr. Dawson sticks his wallet in his pocket.

"Sure thing," she replies. He thanks her and merges into the passing crowd.

Austin sits on the counter. "Well now what are we going to do?"

She looks around the store. There aren't any customers (her dad had opted not to have a sale today, unlike the rest of the mall), so they're free to talk. She knows what she wants to talk about, but does want to step on any toes by asking. Still, the hopeless romantic in her can't resist.

"Maybe we could talk about the secret girl? I know you said you didn't want to tell me who it was, but you could tell me about her. It might help you come up with some ideas for your song."

Your song. Not 'our' song, or 'the' song. It sounds funny to him.

Especially considering that it is her song. Not hers in the sense that she wrote it, but that it's for her. He wants to correct her. He wants to tell her 'it's our song,' but he can't blow it.

He tugs his shirt down to cover the tip of the napkin peeking out of his pocket.

"Alright." he takes a deep breath. There has to be some way to explain this without spilling his guts.

Because guts are messy, and he'd like not to make a mess out of this friendship.

He doesn't know what to say, so he asks her what she wants to know.

"Anything. Everything. What's she like? Have you talked to her? Do you think she likes you back?"

"Whoa, hold on. That's a lot of questions." He jumps off the counter and heads to the guitar display.

He picks up his favorite acoustic. It's nothing special. But in the row it's the second from the left, and he's noticed that no one ever touches it. Always the end guitars, or the red one next to it. The ones on the end are easy to grab. And the red one, well, it sticks out. It's bright and vibrant and everyone wants to play it. (Including this terrible ten year old who points it out every time he's in here. He keeps trying to convince his mother to let him get it, but she insists he play the trumpet, so there it continues to sit.)

He finds these guitars to be like girls. It'd be so easy to go out with a girl like Brooke. She'd be like one of the end guitars, right there in his reach. And Cassidy was like the red guitar. Popular and well liked.

But his favorite guitar?

That one reminded him of Ally. The one that you had to work for. The one that didn't scream and shout 'here I am' but waited patiently, knowing that someone would come along and pick her up. The one that most people overlooked. The one where he couldn't stop looking.

He picks the guitar up and strums.

"You're daydreaming about her, aren't you?" She takes the guitar from him.

"Sorry." He follows her to the benches. There she begins to tune the guitar. "It's just she's so...what's the word for the people who make your heart go thumpity thump?"

She twists the tuning peg. "Thumpers?"

He plucks the string and a sour note rings out. He scrunches his nose.

"Isn't that a rabbit?"

She twists the peg again, and he plucks for her. She hums to herself. He plucks again.

One string down, five to go.

"What about thumpist?" she suggests.

"Not much better."

She pushes her hair back as it falls against the strings. He gawks at the newly exposed skin. She just had to wear an off the shoulder shirt today.

She doesn't notice, too busy fiddling with the second peg. "You know, you could just call it what it is."

"Which would be?"

"A crush."

"Ally, this is far past crush."

Okay, don't panic. So she wasn't supposed to hear that. She still doesn't know who he likes. As long as she doesn't find out that it's her, he's good.

And no, he does not need duct tape to keep any more of his secrets from sliding out. He's not stupid enough to let it happen twice in one day.

"Then what is it?"

"Love."

So much for not letting it happen twice in the same day. He let it happen twice in the same five minutes.

Panic. Panic. Panic.

Where's the duct tape?

"Aww, that's so sweet. She must really be special then."

"You- y'know, she really is." He almost pats himself on the back. He's so proud that he caught himself.

But bad things happen in threes, and he knows fate makes exceptions for nobody. He's keeping his guard up.

If only that was possible around her. With her, his guard is down. Like so far down it's sinking into the floor, and all of his emotions are inviting her in for a party. Because apparently it's fun to toy with his feelings.

He shouldn't blame her. He can only blame himself. He should know better than to build a wall on quicksand.

It was never this quick of sand until Ally came around.

He plucks the string.

_(the page breaks here)_

The sales end, and some customers filter into the store. By now, they've managed to tune all of the guitars.

And Austin has managed to avoid talking about his thumpity thump problem again.

Except instead of just not talking about the girl, they haven't talked at all. The only sound they've made is the twanging of guitar strings.

Somehow it's not awkward at all.

That's the part that terrifies him.

He always used to walk on his parents sitting together, not saying a word. It used to be so weird, and he couldn't understand how they were okay with not talking to each other. And they weren't angry with each other either.

They were in love.

"She'd be stupid not to like you back."

"Huh?" he shakes his head. "How'd you know what I was thinking about?"

"You get this look on your face," she says, mimicking his lovestruck expression.

He frowns. Then it hits him. "You really think so?"

"Definitely. I should put you in front of a mirror next time."

"I meant about her liking me back."

"Oh, yeah. You're awesome and talented and-"

Please say cute. Or hot. Or some other word that means she finds him attractive.

"Excuse me, could you help us? My son is going to be taking up the violin this year," a mother asks.

Ally never finishes that sentence.

Austin had been so curious.

Then again, so was their biggest fan, who had been listening in. He quits fiddling with the tuning pegs and sets the guitar back down. He's surprised they haven't figured him out yet. Really, how many times can someone come in and look at guitars?

He leaves the store, knowing he'll come back tomorrow. He almost feels bad for un-tuning all of these guitars. If these two would just get together already he could finally move on and not worry about getting caught.

In the meantime, he'll take his chances.

Austin takes a chance of his own, pulling the napkin out of his pocket. He takes the pen and writes.

_Well forever I've been waiting to meet my other half_

_You don't need to be smart to do this math_

_That you plus me equals harmony_

_There's a lock on my heart, but you have the key_

_Just please understand that if I hesitate_

_There's still no other to equate_

He folds the napkin, sliding it back into his pocket. He looks over to Ally, who is headed towards the register with the mother and a violin.

Verse two: complete.


	3. Chapter 3

**He Wrote it on a Napkin (Part 3/5), an Austin & Ally fiction**

**I do not own Austin & Ally. This is for 12It'sMyLife21, who's review was very helpful in figuring out what I wanted to do for this chapter. So keep them coming! And as always, requests are open.**

Thoughts are still coursing through his brain. There is so much he wants to say, but now she's reached the register, and there is no way he's risking her seeing the napkin. He balances the pen on the back of his ear.

She cashes out the violin, along with a few other people who have formed a line. He could make a break for the practice room. There he could write and she wouldn't know. But she's struggling to take care of all the customers, and he'd be a bad friend if he didn't help her out.

If he wants to prove to he'd make a good boyfriend, he has to be a good friend first. It doesn't matter how romantic his song is. If he wants to win her over, he has to be the full package. Cute, sweet, talented and helpful.

He knows that she thinks he's sweet. He's always bringing her bubble gum after lunch. His grandma had sent him a tub of Dubble Bubble for his birthday. He loves her to pieces, but she isn't the best when it comes to buying presents. He's still trying to convince her that socks are not a sufficient Christmas present.

So when he found himself stuck with 380 pieces of bubble gum, he decided to share. He had watched with amazement as her tongue worked the gum, blowing a bubble. It was so big all he could see was her eyes peeking out behind it. She looked so cute and innocent. He'd been giving her bubble gum ever since.

One of these days it's going to pop and get stuck in her hair. And then he'll be upset, because she has really pretty hair.

If he's being honest, it's not just her hair he finds pretty.

He knows that she thinks he's talented. Otherwise she wouldn't keep writing him songs. Songs that he's jealous of, because she makes it look like it's the easiest thing in the world.

He's been working all day, and all he has to show for it is two measly verses.

Two measly verses that he worked his butt off for and thinks are pretty fantastic.

For him anyway.

It doesn't matter if they're perfect. It matters if they're from his heart. He knows Ally, and he knows that's all that'll matter.

It still doesn't make it any easier to write this darn song.

He hasn't a clue if she thinks he is cute. He's caught those lingering looks sometimes.

It's probably his imagination. There's nothing beyond friendship in those looks. Nothing that says, 'wow, Austin really is a stud muffin.'

For one, it's not in her vocabulary to say 'stud muffin.'

For another, he'd rather not get compared to a muffin. If anything, he's a cupcake. A fun, sugar rushed cupcake.

Not some bran filled, boring old muffin.

He shakes the bag open. She slides in the headphones.

See, he's helpful too. He can hit all four parts of her quotient. And every other factor, because he's sure it's more than these basics. She's a complex girl, and she's not going to settle. It's one of the things he loves about her. She's not one of those stupid pretty girls that he has to explain his jokes to or talk down to. That's not to say all girls he likes are like that. But with Ally, he can hold a conversation and she can hold her own. She isn't afraid to disagree and push his buttons.

As much as he'd rather not admit it, he likes when she pushes his buttons.

If things were always easy, where would be the fun in it? She's a challenge. One that he hopes to succeed at. There's no room for failure.

Or if there is, he hopes that it is locked, and that the key is thrown somewhere far, far away where nobody can unlock the door and let it out. Because unlike crushes, love can break a heart.

Sure, a crush can create a crack. Love on the other hand, well, that's a different story. It's like taking a sledgehammer to his heart and letting the pieces shatter to the floor.

There's no way he could ever fix that.

(_the page breaks here)_

Trish comes into the store, followed by Dez. Shopping bags line his arms.

"You're having him carry your bags?" Ally asks, accepting the offered piece of bubble gum.

"Those aren't my bags. I just ran into him on my way here." She sits down on the bench.

Dez drops all the bags in a heap on the floor. "You could have helped, y'know."

She stretches out and lies on her back.

"Are you kidding me? I've been on my feet all day!" Her feet flex, just enough to accidentally kick him. He gives her a dirty look.

To think, she actually kept her job. Normally she would have been fired or quit by now.

"I'm impressed Trish. You survived the sale and kept your job."

"Oh no," she explains. "I quit. But it was so crowded I couldn't get out and had to stand around waiting until the crowd cleared."

Ally smiles. Then, taking a few final chews, she puckers her lips and blows a bubble.

One of these days, those lips are going to pucker, and he's going to steal the chance while he can.

He may have to steal her gum while he's at it.

No, he doesn't think he will. He doesn't want things to move too fast. A bit faster than this though, that'd be nice. He's been stuck on this friend-ship for far too long, and he'd like to disembark.

He'd be happy to captain the relation-ship. Provided she was on board of course.

Except for now, as far as he knows, she's not on board with the idea. So here he stays, on this friend-ship, with his life jacket ready in case she decides to take the plunge.

The bubble bursts. She reaches for the garbage can.

It's always the same routine. Chew, blow, pop and trash. She's chewed and blown and popped, and now she wants to trash. Except he's staring at her. And she can't just pluck it out of her mouth with her fingers because they've run out of hand sanitizer and she can't leave the store to wash her hands. She needs to spit it out, as it is getting stale.

"Could you look away? This isn't the most attractive thing to watch," she tells him.

She could be scratching poison ivy and he'd find it attractive. (Which it was when they went camping earlier this summer and she had chased him down as he ran away with her book, straight through the patch. Not their greatest moment.)

Still, he humors her, covering his eyes. He hears the gum wad hit the bottom of the waste basket. He waits for permission to open his eyes.

She takes his wrists, removing his hands from his eyes.

"You could've just told me I could uncover my eyes."

"I did, but you didn't hear me. You were thinking about that girl again."

"Dude, you told her about that?" Dez asks, eyes wide.

Austin comes out from behind the counter.

"She caught me writing a love song about the girl." He raises his eyebrows at Dez. He hopes he catches the hint.

"Oh," he responds. He winks very obviously.

Ally looks at him questionably. But a customer comes up to the counter and diverts her attention.

They wait for her. She keeps sending asking glances to Austin. He tries to ignore them, nervously running his hand through his hair. He knocks the pen off his ear.

It clatters to the ground.

He bends down to pick it up, her eyes following him. He's body starts to tingle.

Is it getting hot in here, or is it just him?

_(the page breaks here)_

Austin's dad come to pick him and Dez up at the end of the day. Usually they walk, but there are way too many bags to lug to his house. They get crammed into the trunk. Some have to be put in the backseat.

"Shotgun!" Dez cries, sliding in next to Mr. Moon.

He doesn't argue. He just slides into the back, pushing aside a bag to buckle himself in. He reaches into the center console for a pen.

They back out of the parking space. "Dez, would you like to hear about the history of bunk beds?"

"Finally!" He's been waiting to find out. He leans back as the story begins.

Austin takes the free time to write. He pulls the napkin out of his pocket, flipping it over.

_Well you can call it a crush, but it isn't the same_

_Cause when it comes to you, it isn't a game_

_My heart you did steal, that is how I know it's real_

_There's not another who can make me feel_

_The room get hotter by one hundred degrees_

_I swear I wasn't one to wobble my knees_

_Super suave and confident, that's not me anymore_

_So quit tugging at my heart strings, cause they're getting sore_

"Do you need a hand with those?" his dad asks. They've reached Dez's house.

"I'll help him," Austin offers, shoving the napkin in his pocket.

The bridge: complete.


	4. Chapter 4

**He Wrote it on a Napkin (Part 4/5), an Austin & Ally fiction**

**I do not own Austin & Ally. Hope all of you lovely reviewers had a Merry Christmas! **

With their heads behind the trunk, Dez takes advantage of the privacy. He adjusts his grip on his bags.

"Why haven't you told Ally you're in love with her yet?"

Austin smacks his head on the trunk. He groans in pain. Could this not have waited until after he was out of harm's way?

"I haven't finished the song yet." He pulls out the remaining bags and slams the trunk shut. His father turns in his seat. He shoots him an apologetic look.

"Why do you need the song to tell her?" They head up the path to his front door.

"Because every time I try to tell her, I get all tongue tied." He takes the bag Dez shoves at him.

Dez digs in his pocket for his keys. "It's just Ally, Austin. There's nothing to be afraid of."

He checks the other pocket.

Why can't he find his keys and end this conversation already? It's like Cupid is torturing him on purpose.

"There's everything to be afraid of." He throws his hands up for emphasis, and the contents of some bags spill out onto the porch stoop.

He bends down to pick them up. "Like what? You two are best friends. After me, of course."

Austin slips his hand under the welcome mat and hands him the spare key.

"I don't want to ruin that. What if she only likes me as a friend?"

"Dude, Ally likes you. Like, she like likes you." The door opens.

Austin is really glad he is on the ground right now and that Dez can't see the look on his face. It's somewhere between elation and confusion.

It's one of those hybrids, like a zebra-horse, where he wishes it would be one way or the other, because being both is confusing. He'd share this, but he's still on the fence about if zebras really exist, and he has enough to worry about already. So he follows him up the stairs.

He tries to straighten out his emotions, but he can't shake one or the other. "What makes you think that?"

"Think what?"

"That she like likes me."

"Isn't it obvious?"

They dump the bags on the bed.

"Well, I didn't know about it, so it couldn't have been too obvious."

"Those in love are blind, buddy." He pours the contents of the bags out.

Austin shakes his head, hoping the thoughts will sort themselves out. They don't.

"I should get going. Don't want to keep Dad waiting." A snow globe rolls off the bed. The snow agitates.

Boy, does he know how that feels.

_(the page breaks here)_

He's silent the ride home. He doesn't say anything, going up to his room and flopping on the bed.

There is no way Ally like likes him.

There's no way she could reciprocate his feelings.

If she did, he'd know, and he wouldn't be writing this love song to try and win her over. He wouldn't be anxious when he reaches for her hand. He wouldn't be stealing glances, instead of openly watching her.

He wouldn't have this stupid napkin in his pocket.

He sits up, digging it out of his pocket. It's a bit crumpled. He smooths it out against his thigh.

It's as if someone has lit a fire under him. He leaps off the bed and sits at his desk. There's a stack of new notebooks for school on it. He flips back the cover of the first and tears a page out.

It's not as easy to find a pen. The first one he finds is out of ink. Another writes in green ink. Which is going to be great when he gets bored in class and starts to doodle an army of aliens in the margins of his notes.

But for writing a song, he wants a dark, bold color that'll never fade.

Just like his feelings.

Whoa. That was way too deep.

He copies his lyrics. He goes to ball up the now defunct napkin to throw in the trash. Thinking twice about it, he opens the drawer and sets it inside.

Someday, his grandchildren are going to ask how Grandma and Grandpa got together. (Grandma being Ally, if he is that lucky.)

He'll pull out this napkin of his and she'll utter those six words.

"He wrote it on a napkin."

It's the first thing he's said aloud since leaving Dez's house. He sticks his head out the door. Nobody heard him.

He closes the door. Then he opens it again, sticking a 'do not disturb' sign on the outside. Not that they will, seeing as he's made it pretty clear that he wants to be alone.

He's about to close the door when he has a thought. He amends his sign.

'Do not disturb, unless you have pancakes.'

Much better.

He grabs his guitar and gets to work.

_(the page breaks here)_

By the next morning, he has figured out the melody to his song. That includes the tune to a wordless chorus. A chorus that he can't figure out for the life of him.

Maybe he should write the last verse first. And then he'll know precisely what he wants to say.

Because singing 'I love you, I love you, I love you' for a chorus is not going to fly.

For starters, it's been done. Michael Franti, Natasha Bedingfield, Saigon Kick. He's trying so hard not to be cliché.

Secondly, he does not want to turn red when he sings this song. His evaded using the word 'love' so far. He knows that if he says it he's going to blush. She deserves to be serenaded by someone who doesn't resemble a cherry tomato.

For enders, which he knows is not a word, but really should be because starters gets to be, there's still that voice in the back of his head nagging him. The one that says Dez is wrong and that she doesn't like him like that.

If that voice had a face, he'd punch it.

Which is saying a lot, because he is not the violent type at all.

The paper is in his pocket. He's pulled off the fringe. It's made his paper neater, and he wishes it was as simple to neaten up this relationship.

If wishes were wings, pigs would fly. (Wheel of Time VI, Robert Jordan)

Let's be realistic. If wishes were wings, pigs would be bacon. Delicious, and dead. Because pigs are too fat to fly.

He strolls into the Sonic Boom. She's at the piano with Nelson, her back turned to him. He reaches for the guitar, second from the left.

Something is wrong.

This is not his special guitar. It's the red guitar.

He doesn't want the red guitar. He wants his acoustic, which has taken the former seat of the red. Who thought they could move them, and disturb the natural order of things?

Who's he to think he can disturb the natural order of their relationship and ask Ally out?

Maybe the natural order is for them to be together.

He leaves the red guitar in it's new spot. It's different, but after looking at it for a minute, it doesn't look so bad.

Picking up the old acoustic, he plays his melody. He plays it over and over, searching for the words to fit. He plays until his fingers grow sore. Ally walks over to him, now done with Nelson.

"Still working on your song?"

"I'm a bit stuck," he admits. That weird zebra-horse feeling passes over him again.

Now what's the best way to figure out if she likes him like Dez said?

And no, asking her is not an option.

Not if he wants to keep his breakfast off the front of her shirt.

"How can I help?"

He's glad this guitar barrier is between them, because if she steps any closer, his heart is going to pop out of his chest. It's odd. They usually forget the meaning of personal space around each other.

Except today all he can think about is this love song, and how he's writing it for her, because he really really likes her, and when her face is that close it kind of makes him want to kiss her.

He doesn't think he'll be setting this guitar down anytime soon.

_(the page breaks here)_

It should be illegal to be have had that much fun.

Then again, he doesn't want to end up in jail. Better scratch that last statement.

They had spent the last hour in We B Toys, bouncing balls and pressing 'try me' buttons. Most of which were quickly pressed again to stop the insanity.

Back in the practice room, he sets the box on the floor. He unwraps it, taking out the pieces and setting it up.

"A grown boy playing with a princess edition of CandyLand. Now that's something you don't see every day," Ally comments.

Austin hands her Belle. "Here. You should be her, cause she's smart and pretty like you."

His hand brushes hers.

"Then you should be Cinderella. Optimistic and makes all of her dreams come true." She hands him the game piece. "Er, Cinder-fella. Sorry that there aren't any male pieces."

Their hands brush again. All it would take is the twitch of a finger to hold her hand.

He sets it on the board.

"Ladies first."

_(the page breaks here)_

Mr. Dawson knocks on the practice room door.

"Ally, I'm going to get some lunch. Can you watch the store?"

She looks down at the game board, where she is currently winning. Again.

"Yeah. I'll be right there."

"What about our game?" he asks. There's still a chance he can beat her.

"We can play downstairs. Just remember your spot." She loads the pieces into the box.

Austin hands her the lid. "Third yellow in. Got it."

She starts down the stairs. He starts to follow, but an idea hits him. He takes a step back.

"Where are you going?"

"No worries, I'll be there in a minute. Get it set up for us?"

"Okay," she agrees.

He races back up the stairs. There's a pen on the desk, so he takes it.

_If my hand graces yours, will our fingers intertwine_

_If they do, can I take it as a sign_

_That you like me too, don't dash my hopes_

_This is the truest love, it is not a hoax_

_Let me lay it out straight for you one more time_

_You with love in desperately I'm_

_Wait, what?_

He caps the pen.

Verse three: complete.


	5. Chapter 5

**He Wrote it on a Napkin (Part 5/5), an Austin & Ally fiction**

**I do not own Austin & Ally. But, as many of you lovely reviewers have asked, I do own the song. It's an original, complete with melody. I'm hoping to get it recorded and posted on my tumblr for you all to enjoy! In the meantime, I hope you like this final installment of the story, and remember as always: review and request.**

It has been three days (and seventeen minutes) since Ally picked up the sheet music. That's 4,337 minutes of mental distress. 4,337 minutes of wondering if there's any use in writing this love song or if she'll just laugh in his face.

Make that 4,338 minutes.

Today's the day.

_(the page breaks here)_

He woke up at four, throwing the covers off his body. He crept over to his desk. There, right on top of the notebooks, where he had left it, was the song.

He slid back into bed.

This was the third time tonight. Well, this morning, if you're going to get technical about it.

He knows this song inside and out. Every note, every syllable is ingrained in his brain. He could sing it forwards, backwards, in his sleep.

Singing it in front of Ally would be an entirely different challenge.

There was a part of him that feared he would lose all the words. That they would fly out of his mind, say adios and take a one way ticket to Mexico. Or wherever it is that words go when you need them most.

He pulls the covers over his head.

_(the page breaks here)_

At seven thirty, he gave up trying to sleep. He dragged his feet downstairs (after checking to make sure the page was still on top of his notebooks) to the kitchen. He sat at the counter.

"Morning sweetie. You're up early." His mother sipped her coffee.

"I couldn't sleep."

"How about some pancakes?" she offered, opening the freezer.

"No thanks." There was a rock in his stomach.

Mr. Moon's newspaper rattled. He set it on the table beside him. "No pancakes? You alright, son?"

Austin shook his head, slumping forward. His face hit the cool counter top.

Mrs. Moon gave his father a concerned look.

"You know you can tell us anything."

"It's what we're here for," Mr. Moon added.

Austin detached his face from the counter.

"Ever feel like you're making a terrible mistake, but there's a chance that it may be the best thing to ever happen to you?"

"I'm not quite sure I get what you mean," Mr. Moon asked as his wife set a plate in front of their son. She took the box of pancakes out and stuck two in the toaster.

Despite his fear, he found himself getting hungry at the sight. "I want to ask Ally out, but I'm afraid that it'll ruin our friendship. But there's a chance she might say yes, and that would make me really happy."

His mother slid the pancakes onto the plate.

Handing him a fork, she addressed her husband. "Tell him about when you proposed to me."

Austin took a bite.

"Back when your mother and I were dating, I had this crazy idea. She was a hand model, and I was going to have a friend of mine pose as a creative director who wanted to shoot an ad for wedding rings. Then when she'd get to set, I would slide the ring on her finger and ask her to marry me." He paused to take a sip of his coffee.

"So what happened?"

He set his cup back down. "I chickened out. I was too afraid to make such a bold move."

Austin caught a piece of pancake that had fallen off his plate. He popped it in his mouth.

"But you guys got married."

"When I caught wind of the plan from his friend, I proposed to your father." She placed her hands on his shoulders. "And then he gave me the ring."

Picking his fork up, Austin jabbed another piece.

"So you're saying that I should let Ally make the first move?"

"No. What we're saying is that you should go for it. If you feel that you really love Ally, you should let her know. Not every girl is as brazen as your mother."

He thinks the rock has a friend.

_(the page breaks here)_

Now he's hiding in the practice room. Well, he's in plain sight, but he's trying to ignore the inevitable.

That pretty soon Ally is going to realize that acoustic guitar is missing and is going to come looking for it. She had been busy when he came in. He assumes that she finished with the customer by now and is giving him time to work on his song.

He had texted her last night saying it was finally done. There was finally a chorus.

She raps her knuckles on the door. He gets up from the piano bench. His legs wobble as he makes his way to the door. He wills them to stop.

Turning the knob, he swallows. His throat has run dry.

"Hey Ally."

"I was wondering if you wanted to go for milkshakes. Y'know, to settle you down." Her hand collides with his.

He takes it.

"Sure." He really could use a drink.

When they sit at the table, he has second thoughts. It's the same table as last time. Only difference is this time he's ordered a Fuzzy Navel too, and she's gotten a spoon.

That may be a good thing. No more straw complications.

"Are you ready?" She digs in her cup.

"Honestly?"

"No. I want you to lie to me."

"In that case, I've never been more ready."

She smiles around her spoon. "Now say it like you mean it."

He sinks his spoon into his cup.

"I don't know if I can do that." He stuffs a heap of peach chunks in his mouth.

"I believe in you."

Somehow that makes things easier.

_(the page breaks here)_

He waits until the last possible moment of the day to do it. Not on purpose, mind you.

When they had returned there were customers to help. Then Dez came to take him to the arcade to calm him down and give him a pep talk. Trish was there when they got back. And then there were more customers.

She was closing now. He nudges Dez.

"Can you conveniently have somewhere to go? I want to sing Ally her song now," he whispers.

Dez nods. "Oh, would you look at the time. I have to go- brush my teeth."

Ally raises her eyes from the cash register.

"You have to go brush your teeth?"

"I take my dental hygiene very seriously, Ally." He leaves the store.

Austin is glad that Trish is already gone, because after that odd performance, he doesn't want her to get suspicious. Then she'll run away. He'd never get the nerve back up to do this again.

She scans the store. "We're missing a guitar."

"I think I left it in the practice room. Come look for it with me?"

She agrees.

They walk up the stairs, her hot on his heels.

He lets her through the door first and slams it shut. She jumps.

"What's going on?"

"Take a seat." She sits on the piano bench. He picks up the guitar from where he left it.

He sings her the song. The whole song, chorus and all.

_This is your song_

_Th _

_This is your song_

_So come now learn the words and sing along_

Before he loses all of his nerve, he takes the plunge.

"Would you be angry if I kissed you?"

"No." He sets the guitar down.

"Would you be upset?"

"No," she responds, standing up. He takes a step forward.

"Would you be disgusted?"

"No." His right hand finds its way to her waist.

"Would you be happy?"

Their lips connect and his left hand intertwines with hers.

She takes a step back.

"I'd be pretty ecstatic."

The chorus: complete.

The song: complete.

The mission to get Ally to go out with him: complete.

The happily ever after?

Just getting started.


	6. Chapter 6

**He Wrote it on a Napkin (Epilogue), an Austin & Ally fiction**

**I do not own Austin & Ally. This is a partly an epilogue for this story, but it is also a prologue for the sequel, She Wrote it on a Red Notebook. Keep an eye out for it, and remember to review and request. (By the way, once I get the song done, I will put the link in the new story!)**

He wants to tell the world. The whole wide world, even the people he doesn't know. He wants to go up to them and be all, 'Hello, have you met my girlfriend Ally Dawson?' just so he can brag about how he's finally got her.

Except there's a catch.

Because how fun would life be if everything just cam ever so easily to him?

He'd say very, but he knows it's not the right answer. Even if it should be.

"We cannot tell anybody about this," she says as she pulls away a second time.

"Not even Dez and Trish? They're our best friends." He places his hands around her waist. Dez and Trish are long gone. But they could be right here, in this room, and he would like to think that his hands would be in this very spot, and that neither of them would make a particular fuss about it.

"Remember when we thought they were going out? How awkward it would have been if they were and we were always tagging along? I don't want them to feel that way." She runs a finger up his chest. "That isn't to say I don't want to go out with you."

She does, more than he knows. If anything, these past three days have only confirmed it.

"Are you suggesting that we go out behind their backs?" he asks, tightening his grip on her. At this point, he'll take all he can get. It's not like this secret would be a permanent thing, right? He promised Dez he'd be the best man at his wedding.

He is not going to elope with her. There is going to be a big ceremony, and an even bigger after party, with miniature hotdogs and a DJ who plays everything from top 40s to Motown.

Okay, he needs to focus on the present. Because at present, she's nodding her head in agreement.

"For now. Is that alright with you?"

"Yeah, it's alright."

It's not ideal, but it'll do for now.

They seal the deal with a kiss.

_(the page breaks here)_

If he stares at her any harder, there will be a hole in her head by lunch. Which would not be good, because they've been dating for a whole twelve hours, and he'd like the perfect relationship not to end because her brains bleed out.

Having a zombie bride may be a great premise for the movies. For real life, he'd like to stick with real live Ally.

"Hey buddy. Say anything to you know who yet?" Dez sets his backpack on the counter.

He doesn't want to lie to him. He's his best friend. He shouldn't lie to him.

"Shh, it's a secret. Remember?" he whispers. It's not an outright lie. It is a secret.

Not a secret that he has a crush, but that his crush agreed to be his girlfriend. Minor details.

Dez nods.

"Why do you keep staring at Ally?" Trish asks.

Dear Cupid. Here he had thought that they were finally on the same side now that they got together. Turns out he was wrong. Otherwise he wouldn't be throwing all of these questions at him, making it hard to keep this a secret.

He blinks. "I was not staring at her."

"Yes, you were."

"I was staring in her direction. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

This is true. He had gotten home later than usual. When he had stripped down to his pajamas he didn't even both to pull down the covers. He simply fell back and stared at the ceiling, replaying the scene in his head. Forwards. Slow motion. Fast motion. Backwards.

He didn't like backwards too much. It made him go from happy to nervous. Not nervous to 'gee golly gosh I feel ever so happy.'

He was so wound up, even his thoughts weren't making sense. Gee golly gosh?

Yeah, because that didn't make him sound like an eight year old Girl Scout who had just sold a dozen boxes of cookies to some stranger.

Ooh, cookies.

"Austin. Are you with us?" He comes back to the present.

"I'm here, sorry. I was just thinking about Girl Scout cookies. I am so hungry."

She checks the time. He had come over early this morning to have breakfast with her. Now, it's six hours later. He stomach rumbles in agreement.

"Which one do you want? I've got Thin Mints, Caramel deLites, Savannah Smiles. Oh, and my personal favorite, Tagalongs." He rips the package open and stuffs a cookie in each of his cheeks. He kind of looks like a chipmunk. "Well?"

Trish wipes the cookie spew off her cheek.

"You dimbecile. You just got cookie all over me." She reaches for a napkin.

There isn't one. It's in his drawer at home, covered in lyrics.

"Dimbecile?" Ally asks.

"It's a combination of dim and imbecile. I was running out of ways to insult him."

"Oh." She decides to take a cookie.

His hand brushes against hers. His thumb greets the back of her hand with a rub. Trish has gone upstairs to wash the Dez spit off her face, and he's too busy shoving more cookies in his mouth. Nobody notices how long it takes for him to pick a cookie.

Nobody except Ally.

_(the page breaks here)_

They're up in the practice room. According to their friends, they're working on writing a song.

Neither of them bother to correct them.

Trish leaves for her new job at the toy store. He thanks Cupid that Trish wasn't there when they were getting 'inspired' for his love song. That could've made things awkward. Nobody likes to be the third wheel.

He thinks he understands why Ally doesn't want them to find out about their relationship.

The word still makes his heart leap.

_(the page breaks here)_

When she gets home that night, Ally finds herself humming his song. As she changes into her pajamas, a thought comes to her.

There's four days until school starts up again. This gives her three days to write him a song back. Something that shows him just how much she does love him, even if she isn't ready to let everyone else know.

She throws her clothes in the hamper.

Yes, she's going to do it. She's going to surprise him with a response song, and he's going to hold back his tears, just like she did.

She crawls under the covers.

She'll start tomorrow.


End file.
